


Sic Parvis Magna

by ragingsoliloquist



Series: My Brother's Keeper [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Baby Nate and Sam, Brain Tumors, Brotherly Love, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Sam loves being a big brother, baby Nathan's first birthday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragingsoliloquist/pseuds/ragingsoliloquist
Summary: A collection of oneshots about the Drake brothers before they were Drakes.In other words, loosely connected and out of order stories of Nathan and Samuel Morgan, their mother Cassandra, and their father James.Open to suggestions and requests!Will update tags as I go.





	1. Greatness from Small Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is super rusty--I haven't written anything resembling a fanfic since I was 12 and floppy disks were still a thing, nor have I written anything original in about 3 years. Anyway, I'm here because my university has been on strike for the past 10+ weeks and I'm waiting to graduate. I have turned into Uncharted trash because real life is hella annoying. 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr, @theperksofliving. I mainly use it as a personal outlet, but there is the occasional Uncharted thing in the mix!

**Sam is five. Nathan is a newborn.**

* * *

 

“Sam.”

Although they were the only ones in the obstetrics waiting room at Massachusetts General, James’ calls to his son fell on deaf ears. The five-year-old was clambering from one chair to the next, mumbling enthusiastically under his breath about some make-belief treasure hunt.

“Sam,” James tried again. “Samuel.”

 Sam let out a huff at his father’s incessant voice. “Dad, I’m playing pirates and explorers.”

“I don’t care. Come sit down,” James scolded.

“But dad—”

“Samuel, don’t make me ask you again.”

Sam knew from his father’s tone that there was to be no messing around. He huffed again, this time in defeat, and hopped down from the chair he stood on. James motioned him over. Sam scuffed his feet as he made his way forward. Just because he was listening to his father, it didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

James patted the cheap vinyl of the seat beside him. “Come sit.”

Sam rolled his eyes at yet another command before climbing up beside his father. It was late and he was tired after a big day at school. Pirates and explorers was the one thing keeping him alert, and tonight was a night he did not want to miss out on by falling asleep.

Once he was finally still, it didn’t take long for Sam’s eyes to grow heavy. He leaned his little head against his father’s arm.

James stroked his son’s hair, hoping it would soothe the boy; he wasn’t sure how much longer they would have to wait for.

A contented silence fell between father and son—something that James was thankful for. These moments were few and far between, with Sam at the age of endless inquisitions on the world and history. He was a Morgan, no doubt, striving to stuff his head with as much knowledge as possible.

It was when James heard a tiny sigh escape his son that he knew the quiet was about to end.

“This is boring. I’m bored,” the child whined. There was a beat, with no response from his father before he continued. “Getting a brother is boring. 

James silently continued to pat his son’s head, hoping that his lack of response would get Sam to quiet—no matter how unlikely that was. 

Sam suddenly pulled away from his father’s hand, leaving his hair a tussled mess. “What’s taking so long? Mommy said that the baby was ready.”

“The doctors are in with mom right now. They’re helping to get your brother,” James sighed. His wife, Cassandra was so much better at dealing with this kind of stuff.

“Well,” Sam stated in a matter-of-factly voice, “these doctors are no good. Mommy said the baby was ready.”

“Sam…” James began, but trailed off as his son abruptly turned toward him.

Sam peered up at him with furrowed brows and worry engulfing his hazel eyes. His tiny fingers clutched his father’s forearm.

“These doctors are no good!” he repeated in a squeal.

“Oh for god’s sake, Samuel, don’t be ridiculous.” James was starting to lose his patience.

His wife _was_ so much better at dealing with Sam. She encouraged independence, letting Sam go off with the neighbourhood kids or climb the trees in the yard. When he wasn’t out exploring, it was rare that Sam strayed far from his mother. He was a sweet, soft, yet spunky boy, always eager to help his mom with her historical research. If he couldn’t help her with research, he was happy to help tidy the house or make dinner—sweeping the floor and stirring ingredients in a pot were his speciality.

There was no doubt in James’ mind that Sam would make a good big brother. It already showed through the way Sam had placed little hands on Cassandra’s stomach, face lighting up with joy whenever he felt a kick; or the way he practiced his reading, making sure he was loud enough for the baby to hear as Cassandra helped him sound out the tricky words.

And for the age of five, Sam’s speech was advanced, though he still sometimes struggled getting his tongue to form his ‘L’s and ‘R’s—most times they came out as weak sounding ‘W’s. Of course, when the Morgan’s moved back to James’ hometown of Boston, it didn’t take long for the East Coast drawl to ebb into Sam’s pronunciations. Ever since he could form words, Sam marvelled at his father’s accent, giggling and trying to copy the way he spoke. Cassandra always said that it was a form admiration—of Sam wanting to be like his dad. James’ attempts to squash that were in vein. His son was stubborn, with a knack for latching onto things he liked or found interesting.

He didn’t know much about being a father, but as James peered down at Sam’s face of pure determination, he knew that his son would easily fulfill the role of protective big brother. Protectiveness was an instinct James Morgan lacked, whereas if Sam had his way, he would take off like a shot and barge into every delivery room until he found his mother and new sibling.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sam murmured. “These doctors are no good.”

“Samuel, listen. I—” James quieted when he saw a nurse step into the waiting room.

“James Morgan?” she called.

Sam perked up before James did, propelling himself off his chair. His velcro-strap shoes skidding the floor as he ran to her.

“My, someone’s excited,” the nurse laughed. She knelt down to meet the child’s height. “Are you ready to meet your new brother?”

Sam was vibrating like a wind-up toy ready to take off. He swivelled on the balls of his feet to look at his father, cheeks bulging from his wide smile. “Dad! He’s ready!”

It was the first time since arriving at the hospital that James could finally breathe out the tension that had built up in his chest. He pushed himself from his chair and took Sam’s hand.

For Sam, the thirty-second walk down the hall to his mother’s room felt like a lifetime. The excitement that bubbled in his stomach grew with every step. He wanted to catapult himself into the room and to his mother’s side, but his father’s handholding kept him tethered.

The nurse ushered them into a room at the end of the hall, giving James a warm, congratulatory smile before shutting the door behind her to give the Morgan family their privacy.

James squeezed Sam’s hand as if to remind him to control his excitement.

Cassandra looked over at her visitors, her arms curled around a bundle of blankets. Her exhaustion showed through how flushed her cheeks were, but her face brightened as soon as her eyes connected with Sam’s.

“There’s my sweetest Sammy boy,” she exclaimed softly.

There was a moment of apprehension before James relinquished his son’s hand. Once he did, it took every ounce of Sam’s will to keep his movements controlled as he made his way to his mother’s bedside.

Sam’s fingers gripped the edge of the bed, teetering himself to the tips of his toes and craning his neck to look at the bundle in Cassandra’s arms. He was engulfed with a silent curiosity.

“Hey, sweetheart,” James smiled, walking to Cassandra’s side to press a kiss to her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Cassandra let out a soft sigh. “I’m okay—just tired. But I’m even better now that my favourite guys are here.”

Sam beamed up at his mother when she took her finger to bop him gently on the nose. Being one of her favourite guys was one of _his_ favourite things to be.

“Plus, this little guy makes it worth it,” she added, peering down at the baby in her arms.

“Huh,” James chuckled. “So it is a boy.”

Cassandra shot her husband a knowing look. “I told you. Mother’s intuition.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Cassandra looked down at Sam, who remained uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sammy,” she said, gently tilting her arms toward her son, “this is your baby brother, Nathan.”

Sam, his mouth slightly agape in awe, stayed quiet. His hazel eyes kept trained on the tiny person in his mother’s arms.

“Daddy’s going to hold him and then you can see him again, okay?” Cassandra spoke. She could see the gears in Sam’s head turning to make sense of his new family member.

The baby whined as he was passed from Cassandra to James. He fussed for a moment, limbs trying to squirm in his tight swaddle, and then settled into his father’s arms.

Cassandra took advantage of her free arms to pat the bed space beside her. “Come up with me, Sammy boy.”

Cassandra’s commands were always much more enticing than James’. Sam wasted no time pulling himself up onto the bed. He pressed himself into his mother’s side, nuzzling the side of his face against her collarbone. Cassandra wrapped an arm around his tiny frame and pressed an enthusiastic kiss against his head.

“I missed you, babe.” She gave Sam a squeeze. “Were you a good boy for daddy?”

Sam peered up at her with a smirk. “Duh.”

Cassandra laughed and ruffled Sam’s hair. She looked back at James to drink in the image of father meeting son for the first time.

James, although filled with love for the baby in his arms, had to fight against his awkwardness. Being a father never came as naturally to him as being a mother did to Cassandra. Even during the good times, this nagging sense of inadequacy tugged at him. Without Cassandra, he would be in way over his head.

As if telepathically reading James’ thoughts, Nathan began to sputter, which crescendoed into soft and broken cries. That was all it took for the baby to feel like a grenade in James’ arm.

“Here,” he said, “I think he likes his mom better.”

“Let Sam hold him,” Cassandra said.

Sam sat upright, suddenly more alert at the mention of his name. Nervous eyes flicked up to Cassandra’s.

“I’ll be right here,” Cassandra assured. “You won’t hurt him. I promise.”

And just like that, after some awkward shuffling and ensuring Nathan’s head was supported, Sam was cradling the bundle of blanket in his arms. Sam looked down in fascination. He couldn’t believe how tiny his brother was. There was no way _he_ was ever that small.

Nathan quickly quieted his fussing to rest comfortably into the arms around him.

Sam giggled, whipping his head to Cassandra and James, and then back to Nathan. “He’s not crying no more!”

Nathan pried open wet looking eyes to peer up at the face above him.

“Mommy!” Sam beamed. “He’s looking at me!”

“He sure is, babe. I think he remembers your voice from when he was in my belly,” Cassandra replied. She brushed back locks of Sam’s hair. The scene before her left her enamoured.

“Will he be able to play pirates and explorers with me?” Sam asked, craning his neck back at his mother.

“I’m sure he will when he’s a bit bigger,” Cassandra chuckled.

Sam’s face pulled into a huge, toothy smile. He couldn’t wait for Nathan to get a bit bigger so they could go on adventures. He folded over to press a gentle kiss to his baby brother’s face.

“I think I love him already.”


	2. What's Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After watching the boys on his own for a week, James waits for Cassandra to return home. When she does, things aren't as carefree as the Morgan boys had hoped
> 
> or, James hates being a lonely father, Nathan hates broccoli, and Sam hates it when his parents fight.

**Sam is eight. Nathan is three.**

* * *

 

If there was anything James had learned in the last few years of his life, it was that being a father of two boys was an unrelenting job.

He knew that parenting was a bad choice for both Cassandra and himself. Their jobs never granted them the kind of stability a child should have. He had lost count of how many times they had moved in the past three years; did they go from Boston, to Seattle, to Manhattan, to Washington, to Hanover, to Cambridge? He couldn’t remember any more. Everything in their home was _still_ packed up in boxes that James refused to tend to; they would only be moving back to Boston again in the next few months, so what was the point?

Nathan was fortunately young enough to not care so much about living out of boxes—though now that his speech was developing he was asking a _lot_ of questions, namely about why they were so different from everyone else. Sam, on the other hand, barely had a chance to get settled into school before being pulled out and transferred to another one. He was a resilient kid at the age of eight, but as curriculums developed, he had to start taking responsibility for his own learning, lest he fall behind.

James wanted nothing more than to throw in the towel at home. As he sat at the kitchen table, all he could think about was the work he was missing at the museum. Instead, here he was, surrounded by unpacked boxes. Isolated.

It wasn’t that James was _completely_ on his own. Cassandra was the one who took up the task of parenting as if it were the most natural thing in the world, while James played into the role of working and coming home a little more tired every day. Nomadic requirements aside, Cassandra’s job luckily gave her the freedom to stay home when archaeological finds came to a lull.

Most of her days were fairly routine. She would wake up the boys, feed them breakfast and help Sam get ready for school. Then, she would pack a day bag filled with notebooks, pens, colouring books, crayons—and of course snacks—and then bundle up Nathan into his stroller. They would walk Sam to school before heading off to the library. Even at the age of three, Nathan was happy to spend hours there. Cassandra would usually set up camp at a table big enough to lay out all her research and maps, and Nathan would sit with his own pads of paper and colouring books, scribbling a mess of lines and colours. He would always triumphantly hold up his finished drawings for Cassandra to marvel at as she pretended he was contributing to her research.

The hours would pass, and once 2:30 rolled around, Cassandra would pack up her things and she and Nathan would go to meet Sam at the school playground. They would return home, Sam jabbering on about what he learned at school that day, and Cassandra would get dinner ready for when James got home around six o’clock.

At least that’s how things _used_ to be.

Cassandra’s recent obsession with her research forced James to start picking up the slack. Sir Francis Drake and a plethora of pirates clouded his wife’s mind with ideas of feigned deaths and secret utopias. Spending most of his time doing work with museums across the country, James would hear scholars and historians snicker at his wife’s philosophies, which of course only drove Cassandra to work harder.

For the past week she had abandoned them—at least in James’ eyes she had—to travel with her research partner to lead a presentation at Cornell.

James was counting down the hours—one and a half, to be exact—until his wife was expected to be home. He just had to get through dinner.

He looked to the scene in front of him. Sam was thankfully behaving himself, though Nathan was another story. Those who spoke about the terrible-twos had obviously never had to deal with a three-going-on-four-year-old. Either that, or they had never had to deal with Nathan Morgan.

The toddler sat propped up on a tower of pillows in order to reach the kitchen table, as he had _insisted_ that he was a big boy and didn’t need his highchair anymore. Sam, being the supportive big brother he was, agreed.

A million-and-one catastrophic scenarios stacked up in James’ head as he watched Nathan teeter on his cushy seat.

_He is going to fall. He is going to fall and crack his head open on the floor. He is going to fall and he is going to crack his head open on the floor and Cassandra is going to kill me._

James paused his thoughts to gaze at Sam, who was currently beaming at the chance to help his younger brother cut up the food on his plate, all the while instructing Nathan on how to eat safely because _“stabbing your mouth with a fork can give you ouchies.”_

_Hell, Sam might even kill me before Cassandra gets the chance to._

How did James always manage to get into these situations?

“Nathan,” James urged. “C’mon now, you said you would eat your vegetables if I let you sit in the big people chairs.”

Nathan stared grumpily at his father before crossing his arms with a dramatic huff. “I don’ wike ‘em!”

“Well that’s not very nice. We had a deal, and it’s not nice to break a deal,” James stated. _Really? Trying to reason with a toddler? I’ve hit rock bottom._

“Don’ wanna!” Nathan shouted.

With a confidently knowing look on his face, Sam placed a hand on James’ forearm as if to say, _“I got this dad, don’t worry.”_

“Nathan,” Sam enthused. “Nathan, look!”

Nathan watched carefully as Sam impaled a piece of broccoli with his fork and hovered it in front of his face.

Sam cupped a hand over his mouth, voice turned muffled and nasally as if to imitate someone speaking through a radio. “Air flight fifteen preparing to land at Nathan Morgan airport. Please stand by.”

He continued with his act, manoeuvring his forkful of broccoli through the air, all the while making the best airplane noises he possibly could. Nathan remained unmoving until Sam drove the fork to his mouth.

“No!” Nathan shouted again, clamping his mouth shut and hitting the fork with a tiny hand. Sam gaped at the empty utensil in his hand as the piece of broccoli bounced to the floor, to which Nathan squealed and clapped his hands in glee.

James pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. One more hour. All he had to do was survive dinner.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Sam spoke, voiced laced with insouciance. He pushed his empty plate out of the way so he could pull Nathan’s closer. “I guess I’ll just eat your veggies, and then _I’ll_ get big and strong and _you’ll_ stay little forever.”

It was like magic in front of James’ eyes as Nathan’s bright face suddenly darkened with fretfulness. The toddler lunged for his plate, and James had to grab a fistful of Nathan’s shirt to stop him from tumbling to the floor.

“No!” Nathan shouted—apparently ‘no’ was his favourite word of the day—and dragged his plate back towards him. “Dese my veggies an’ I need dem to get big wike Sammy!”

James sucked back a laugh as he watched Nathan turn into a human vacuum, inhaling every last piece of broccoli. He eyed his eldest son, who eyed him back with an arrogant smirk.

_Cocky little shit. You get that from your mother._

Nathan’s face was overtaken with a smile at the feat he had just conquered. He pushed his plate away, just as Sam had done with his own, and threw his arms up and behind his head.

“Did it,” he announced coolly.

“Good boy,” James cooed. “And you know what? I think you’re starting to grow already!”

Nathan giggled gleefully at his father.

“No, I’m serious,” James replied sternly, beginning to poke Nathan’s stomach. “Yeah, you’re definitely growing. And I think you’re stronger too!”

Sam, starting to feel left out, joined in on the façade and poked at his little brother’s stomach, too. “Yeah! Dad’s right, Nathan!”

Nathan’s giggles erupted into a lungful of laughter. “Dat tickles!”

The sound of keys in the front door silenced father and sons immediately. Sam and Nathan shared a look of pure elation before simultaneously shouting, “mommy’s home!”

Sam was like a lighting strike, bouncing off his chair and helping Nathan down from his pillar of pillows.

James clenched his jaw as he watched his two boys take off down the hall. Sam was almost over twice the size of Nathan, yet that didn’t stop Nathan from trying to keep up with Sam’s speed. The youngest was obviously still adjusting to the toddler-like growth of his limbs. It was like watching a tiny, uncoordinated drunk person run with reckless abandon, feet slapping against the floor all the while. 

James took a moment to remind himself to breathe again before padding after his children. The tight joints in his body softened when he rounded the corner and saw his wife knelt down on the floor, bags thrown aside in haste to catch the two children that flung themselves at her.

“Hey, kiddos!” She was radiating with her boys back in her arms.

“‘quishin’ me!” Nathan muffled out against his mother’s neck.

“What's that, babe?”

“You’re squishing us,” translated Sam.

Cassandra loosened her grip, allowing them to pull away from her.

Sam blurted a succession of words in one breath. “We’re so glad you’re home, it felt like forever and dad made us live off of broccoli and chicken and he wouldn’t even get us McDonald’s _once_ and he tucked us in every night but he doesn’t do it right and he wouldn’t let us build a fort with all our boxes and—”

“Whoa there, Sammy boy,” Cassandra interrupted, smoothing her eldest son’s hair as he panted to get his breath back. “I’m sure daddy did his best.”

Nathan, loaded with the same excitement as his brother, ceaselessly tugged at the sleeve of his mother’s blue sweater.

“Mommy, mommy, I ate my boccowi and now I big and stong!” he shared with pride, making a show of sticking out his belly and jabbing at it with a pudgy finger. “Wook! Poke my tummy!”

Cassandra played along just like Sam and James had, tickling Nathan’s stomach and smiling when the toddler cackled.

**\------**

After helping tidy the dishes from dinner, Sam and Nathan were ushered to go play in their bedroom. Sam wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but he knew that _something_ felt off. He could tell from the way his dad silently washed the dishes, hardly giving his mom a response as she shared details about her trip. He was eight, but he wasn’t stupid, and he knew that once he and Nathan were out of earshot his parents would be having another one of their tense discussions.

Sprawled out on the floor with Nathan, Sam strained to hear the voices that echoed in muffles down the hall. Nathan remained oblivious, lying like a Sphinx as he played with a collection of Lincoln Logs.

At first the voices were too quiet. All Sam could distinguish was the bass of his father’s voice and the treble of his mother’s as they took turns in speaking. Sam tongued at a loose tooth, feeling it wiggle against his gums, waiting for the voices to become more decipherable. It was only a matter of time.

And Sam was right. Just like every conversation his parents seemed to have lately, the voices grew louder and with more infliction. Tonight though, his parents were talking about strange things. Something about Panama? And a prison? Huh?

Sam reached to open the bedroom door ajar, letting the voices travel more freely to his ears.

James’ voice was the first to be heard, dripping with scorn. “For chrissakes, Cassandra. I swear that woman—”

“Evelyn,” Cassandra interjected.

“Evelyn, _whatever_ her name is. She has as many asinine ideas as you.”

There was a pause of silence. Sam swore he could hear his mother’s heart rattling at what James’ words were insinuating.

“You think I’m as crazy as everyone else does…don’t you?” She tried to sound accusing—firm, but instead her voice shook.

“I…I’m not saying that,” James responded. “All I’m saying is that you ladies are doing an awful lot of goddamn reaching. It’s dangerous.”

The shake from Cassandra’s voice disappeared as she scoffed. “We’re _reaching_? Why? Because we’re fucking _women_?”

Sam froze at his mother’s voice. She hardly ever swore. He wished his father would stop talking—would stop upsetting his mom.

“Cassandra…”

“Screw you, James. You know damn well that if a man were trying to do what I was he would be commended for his hard work, for his discoveries. And you know damn fine that he wouldn’t be called crazy, either.”

“You’re not listening to me,” James’ voice was forceful at first, but there was a pause and he reeled himself in to soften. “Cass, you know I love you with all my heart. I’m just worried. This prison idea is too dangerous. And with your health…”

“I can’t believe you’re going to pull the brain tumour card on me,” Cassandra seethed.

James’ voice continued to soften, and both he and Cassandra eventually fell into silence.

Sam continued to anxiously fiddle with his loose tooth. He was so preoccupied with his parent’s words that he almost didn’t hear his little brother speak beside him.

“What’s a dumour?” Nathan asked.

Sam glance at Nathan, then at the half-built Lincoln Log tower on the floor in front of them before responding. “It’s a growth.”

“What’s a growf?”

“It’s like…” Sam paused to find the words Nathan could comprehend. “It’s like a bump.”

“Mommy don’t have a bump. I never seen it,” Nathan shot Sam an accusing glance.

Truth be told, Sam wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with his mom, but he knew she was sick and was only going to get sicker. He was scared. He would feel the muscles in his hand wanting to shake, but he forced himself to steadily stack another Lincoln Log on Nathan’s tower. He was scared, but he could be brave for his brother.

“You can’t see the bump,” Sam tried to explain. “It’s inside her head.”

“Oh.” Nathan was trying to understand, but Sam knew he couldn’t.

“Hey, let’s do something else,” Sam said, nudging his brother with his foot. “How about you get that book we were reading last night? I’ll read to you.”

Nathan’s saucer-like blue eyes shone with excitement. Next to Cassandra, Sam was his second favourite person to have read to him. “You do da voices too?”

“Duh,” Sam snorted.

And so, the Morgan boys settled into bed, Nathan nestled against his brother’s side as the storytelling lulled him to sleep. Panama and prison and brain tumour forgotten.

And for a little while, that was enough for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this (though when is anyone really happy with their own writing?). Anyway, I'm here for the fun. 
> 
> Do you dig it? Do you hate it? Let me know!
> 
> I do have quite a few ideas for other chapters, but I'm also willing to take prompts/ideas/suggestions. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and reading!


	3. Birthday Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Morgans celebrate Nathan's first birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally just slapped this together and hoped for the best, just like every other aspect of my life. 
> 
> I wanted to do a little fluff piece before I wrote about the boys losing their mother. Sam and Nathan deserve happiness every once in a while.

**Sam is six. Nathan is one.**

* * *

 

Sam lunged at the door of the toy store, trying to push it open with all his tiny might. James reached for the handle, but was immediately scolded by his six-year-old tyke.

“I wanna do it, dad!”

“Sam, buddy, the door says ‘pull’,” James deadpanned.

The feisty child swatted his father’s hand away so he could change his tactic and clutched the door handle. He dug his heels into the pavement and pulled with all the strength he could muster, almost stumbling backward when the door finally gave way.

James smiled to himself and held the door open so Sam could rush into the store. In Sam’s eyes this toy store was filled with marvellous potential. There were just _so many_ toys. His hazel eyes darted from one corner of the store to the next, his feet unsure where to take him first. There were poised displays of Stretch Armstrongs, Rubiks Cubes, and Slinkys that sparkled in the eyes of any child.

Sam reached blindly behind him until he found his father’s hand and gave it a tug. He leaned all of his weight forward to drag James through the maze of displays. This kid had a mission, and he would take his father through the whole store if he had to until he found…

“Whoa!” Sam marvelled, stopping to jab a finger at another display. “Dad! Look!”

James immediately wanted to reject what Sam was pointing at, but he took in a deep breath instead. “Sam, a Nerf ball is not a good choice.”

Crestfallen, Sam dropped his pointed hand. “But…it’s safe for inside! Remember it was raining yesterday and mommy and you didn’t want me to go outside and get muddy?”

“Oh ho,” James chuckled through his breath. “ _I_ see now. This is a toy that Sammy wants.”

Sam relinquished his grip on his father so he could stuff both hands into the pockets of his jeans. He cast his eyes away from James’ insinuating stare and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well…” he began, innocently tapping the toe of his shoe on the floor. “No…I could play catch with Nathan.”

“Nathan’s too young to play catch.”

Sam wasn’t about to back down. “Dad, puh-lease? I promise I’ll be super gentle!”

“You’ll just have to put it on your list for Santa, okay?” James gave Sam’s shoulder a light squeeze. “C’mon, let’s go find baby Nathan a birthday present.

Gravity pulled Sam’s bottom lip into a prominent pout, sulking after his father until the next display caught his attention. He perked up within mere seconds of spotting the shelves of LEGO.

“Dad! Dad!” Sam tugged at his father’s shirt. “Look at the sea plane set!”

James humoured his son and pondered his choice for a moment. “LEGOs are great, but remember how small the pieces are? Nathan could choke on them.”

Sam let out a dramatic sigh. Babies were so boring. They couldn’t play with Nerf balls; they couldn’t play with LEGO; what _could_ they play with? Sam scanned the store, eyes squinting in focus until he honed in on the perfect toy. He gasped, just as dramatically as he had sighed, and charged to the next set of shelved toys.

“This!” he announced, pulling down a Fisher Price Baby’s First Blocks box. He clutched it tightly to his chest and pointed at the yellow and blue cylinder depicted on it. “You put all the right shapes through the right holes at the top! And if baby Nathan gets stuck I can help him! And we know it’s safe because it says ‘baby’ on the box!”

James chuckled softly and ruffled Sam’s hair. “That’s perfect, buddy.”

Sam beamed proudly at his achievement of picking out a present for his little brother all on his own.

\---

When the Morgan men returned home, the first thing Sam did was hurtle into the kitchen to see his mom. She stood at the kitchen counter, so focused on measuring out flour for birthday cake that she let out a surprised breath when she felt small arms wrap around her legs.

“Hey, Sammy boy.” Cassandra didn’t need to look down to know who the hugging culprit was.

Sam pulled away from Cassandra, shouting an excited ‘hello’ back at her as he skipped over to a kitchen chair.

“I wanna help!” he announced, beginning to push the chair towards the countertop.

James emerged from the entrance hallway and winced as the chair scraped against the floor. He picked the chair up from Sam mid-push and placed it beside Cassandra, whom he kissed in greeting.

“You were going to wake the baby,” James scolded in a hush at Sam before disappearing into the living room.

In a moment of rebellious sass, Sam stuck his tongue out in the direction his father had gone before climbing onto the chair to focus on the task at hand.

Cassandra let him do most of the work, guiding him with verbal instructions, only helping to control the hand mixer so it didn’t go haywire in his small and inexperienced with baking hands. There were minimal casualties—only a few batter splatters on the child’s face. Sam giggled as she attacked his sticky face with a flurry of kisses.

\--- 

Hours later the Morgans sat around the kitchen table. Nathan was propped up in his highchair, his head on a swivel to check out the birthday balloons that his father and tied to his chair. His chubby baby fingers grasped for the ribbon that kept the balloons tethered.

Sam kneeled on his own chair, hardly able to sit still due to the excitement that rumbled through him. He leaned close to Nathan and gave one of the ribbons a tug. The balloon bounced in the air.

“Look, Nathan,” Sam exclaimed. “See the number on the balloon? It’s the number one!”

Nathan’s wide eyes flicked to the swaying balloon, then his older brother, and then the balloon again. He pointed his stubby hand upward.

“‘ook!” he garbled.

Sam gleamed. “Yeah! That’s how old you are today! We got you presents and I helped mommy make you a cake and mommy’s cakes are the _best_.”

Cassandra noticed Sam shoot her a glance from the corner of his eye and laughed, rising from the table. “I guess that’s a hint, eh, Sammy boy?”

Sam watched as his mom took the cake out of the fridge and lit the single candle that stood erect in the centre. He inwardly congratulated himself on his cake decorating skills—white icing loaded with enough sprinkles to rot teeth. Cassandra placed the cake in front of Nathan and Sam was the first first to start serenading.

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday, dear Nathaaaaaan_

_Happy birthday to you!_

Sam hardly finished the last note before he stood up on his chair, planting both hands on the table for stability as he leaned towards Nathan and the cake.

“I wanna help blow out the candle!”

Both mother and father watched as Sam tried tutoring Nathan on how to properly make a birthday wish and blow out the candle, as if the one-year-old could understand. Though some credit should be given; Nathan watched his older brother intently and tried to copy his action. He puffed out his baby cheeks and pressed his lips together. It couldn’t exactly be considered blowing, as when he forced air from his mouth nothing but spit and sputtering sounds came out.

Sam, being dramatic, clapped a palm to his forehead and laughed emphatically. “That was a nice try, Nathan!” With one swift breath and six years worth of birthday practice, he blew out the flickering flame.

Cassandra removed the candle and pushed the cake closer to Nathan, watching with James as the infant experienced his own cake for the first time.

Nathan, always a curious baby with the will to explore, wasted no time slamming a hand onto the pastry. Icing stuck to his skin, leaving a hand-shaped indent on top of the cake. He attempted to stick his entire hand in his mouth so he could savour the delicious and sweet flavour.

Cassandra and James clapped in encouragement—something that Nathan immediately noticed. He copied their actions, slapping his palms together and joyfully screeching. Globs of gooey icing transferred from one hand to the other, which Nathan then smeared on his face before reaching down for more and repeating the process.

Sam scrunched up his face at his little brother, though softened his expression when he felt his father nudge his side.

“You were _just_ as messy when you turned one, y’know,” James said pointedly.

Sam sent his dad a playful scowl. “Nu uh!”

“Ya huh!” James shot back.

“Whatever, dad!”

“‘ook!” Nathan exclaimed through a mouthful of icing, stretching his tiny arm out to hover by his brother’s face. New dollops of icing coated his hand.

With brotherly telepathy, Sam already knew that Nathan was offering him his own taste of confectionary. He leaned closer and—with his lips drawn inward over his teeth as not to scrape delicate baby skin—placed his mouth on Nathan’s outstretched fingers. When he pulled away he made a string of emphasized ‘yum's, something he had learned through watching his mom feed Nathan in the past.

Nathan squealed as he kicked his feet and clapped his hands together once more.

Icing splattered the table and Nathan’s bib did little to protect his clothes, but Cassandra didn’t care. She was too busy dabbing overwhelmingly blissful tears that welled in the corners of her eyes.

She was too busy being the happiest, proudest goddamn mother in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Let me know! 
> 
> And yes, I totally did a Google search of the best toys of the 70s.


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